


At night

by Chatote



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chatote/pseuds/Chatote





	

Sherlock was playing the violin. Again. 

Don’t get him wrong, John  _loved_  when Sherlock was playing the violin (who didn’t) but not in the middle of night. Not at… 3:46 am, if the clock on his bedside table was to be trusted. 

Mumbling under his breath, he turned on the light and got up. He fumbled a bit with the door’s handle, not yet completely awake. The rest of the flat was dived into darkness. Sherlock hadn’t bothered with the light than. It was silent safe for Sherlock’s music. John didn’t like it. It didn’t feel right at all. 

He stumbled but managed to reach the living room safely. There, before the window and only lit by the moon’s brightness, was Sherlock, back to John. His black curly hair was messy. He had his blue dressing gown on and was tenderly moving the bow on the violin’s cords. John recognised Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. 

He stayed silent for a minute or two, letting the music invade him. He shrugged, eventually, and went to put an hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. The other man froze. The music stopped and the flat went entirely silent. It seemed that even the world, outside, wouldn’t make a single song. There was no walker or car in Baker Street. 

“Sherlock?“ John asked warily. Sherlock didn’t answer. John didn’t understand. Usually, Sherlock would turn around and tell John he couldn’t sleep and John would pull him back to their room and he would pass his hands through Sherlock’s curls until the genius was dead to the world once more. 

Tonight was different. 

Gently, John pushed Sherlock’s shoulder and so that they could face each other. Sherlock let him do so but kept avoiding John’s eyes. Even in the dark, John could see he had been crying. His eyes were red. It was bad. A danger night, then. 

He started to take the violin and the bow out of Sherlock’s hands, and put them on the desk. Still silent, he then grabbed Sherlock’s hand gently, and lead him to the sofa where he made him sit. 

“What happened?“ he asked softly once Sherlock’s head was on his laps. He started to pass his hands through his lover’s hair, letting him time to answer. The minutes followed one another until Sherlock finally found the force to speak. 

“I had a nightmare.“ His voice was low but steady. John was relieved. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it was. “We were back at the pool. With Moriarty.“ 

John closed his eyes. He had to stop himself from clenching his fists. If Moriarty was before him right now, or even Mary — his guts tighten at her memory — he didn’t know what he’d bloody do. But they were both dead now. “What happened, love?“ he asked, stroking Sherlock’s cheek. It was wet. 

Sherlock took a trembling breath. “You were… You were…“ He couldn't make it. He turned his face and hid in John’s pyjamas. 

“Shh,“ John soothed him. “It’s alright, love. I’m alright.  _We_ ’re alright.“ He kissed Sherlock on the cheek, softly, before taking the genius’s chin between to gentle finger and forcing him to look at John. “We are alright. It’s over.“ The doctor repeated. He tried to put as much honesty in the words as he could. 

Sherlock made a small nod. John smiled softly. God, he couldn’t believe the man before him was the same who ran every day through London to catch criminals. “Come on, back to bed.“ 

He half carried Sherlock back to their room — the guy had slept five hours in three days— and pulled the cover over him. He then climbed on his own side of the bed and took Sherlock in his protective arms. Sherlock snuggled and made himself comfortable. John could feel his hot breath in his next. Soon, the two of them were asleep. 

They wouldn’t wake up until 8am, when Mrs. Hudson would bring tea and greet them with a smile that was saying ‘I knew it and told you since the very beginning‘. It was the only smile she would gave the both of them —especially John — since she had learnt they were together. After, Sherlock would do some experiment or resolve a new case and John would go to the surgery where he would receive tons of texts from his other half, asking him to buy tea or complaining about Mycroft. 

They were, after all,  _alright_


End file.
